


sometimes goodbye (is a second chance)

by ivermectin, orphan_account



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Gen, Hurt Crowley, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Trans Crowley (Good Omens), Transphobia, im not sure if this fic makes sense but let's roll with it okay, im sorry this is rough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-12 01:34:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20556044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivermectin/pseuds/ivermectin, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Being out as trans at home isn't safe for Crowley, so he leaves without a plan of action... unless you can consider calling Aziraphale a plan of action. And hey, maybe you can.





	sometimes goodbye (is a second chance)

**Author's Note:**

> i don't know why i wrote this i just have Too many trans feels and gender sadnesses. i'm not sure if this is cohesive but that's because i was projecting quite a bit on our lovely demon boy. 
> 
> some of the parallels to the canon universe are just casually thrown in there. crowley leaving his house for example is vaguely compared to his Fall from heaven. this isn't to say god is transphobic, it's just to say that sometimes people who are supposed to love you unconditionally end up hurting you, and that sucks. so yeah. basically none of this is super deep and none of this is meant to be offensive.
> 
> this is not beta read, and also it's 2:40 AM so. feel free to @ me if you catch any typos or mistakes. 
> 
> if you're waiting on any other fics from me.......... i promise i have not forgotten them, haha. it'll happen!!! <3
> 
> the title of this is from the shinedown song "second chance."

Crowley didn’t know where he was going, what he was taking; all he knew was that he needed to leave pretty damn fast. He opened cupboards at breakneck speed, rifling through the contents, grabbing as many CDs and comic books as he could at one shot, piling them all out on the floor. Fifteen minutes, they’d said. He opened another cupboard, grabbed hold of his biggest bag, and began shovelling everything in, careful not to crumple pages or break CD cases. He threw in some of his favourite shirts, his skinny jeans, whatever was closest. Three pairs of underwear wouldn’t be enough, but he didn’t have more sets at hand. Phone, charger, slightly beat up laptop, laptop charger. His school bag and ID card. His wallet. 

He’d have to leave the plants behind. He took a shaky breath, shouldered the bag, walked downstairs with his head held high. He wouldn’t let them see him snap. He _couldn’t. _

He opened the car door easily, put all his things in the backseat except for his phone. He sat in the drivers’ seat, closed the door, put his seatbelt on, and then carefully, his hands as steady as he could keep them, he sped right out of the family garage and away from the place he’d once called home.

Crowley wasn’t really sure where he was going – he just knew that he needed to get _away. _He drove aimlessly for around 30 minutes, on the verge of breaking the speed limit but careful, since he didn’t think he could handle getting pulled over. Not just then.

Once he was far enough from his house to relax a little, he took his phone out, and called Aziraphale. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale asked, the moment he picked up. No hello, no greeting. Crowley should’ve been grateful for it, but it just made him more anxious. “Everything OK?” 

“Actually, it’s not,” Crowley murmured. “I just told my family that where first names are concerned, I go by Anthony.” 

Too late, he realised that Aziraphale didn’t know this. Crowley didn’t use his first name ever; he’d always been Crowley to Aziraphale.

“Anthony?” Aziraphale said, surprised. 

“You don’t like it?” Crowley asked, managing to keep his voice even. 

“No, I didn’t say that,” Aziraphale said. “I’ll get used to it.” 

“Right, yes,” Crowley murmured. 

“Are you alright, my dear?” Aziraphale asked. 

Crowley’s hands were shaking, but he smiled a little anyway. It wasn’t much of a smile as far as smiles were concerned, but it reached his eyes. 

“Not…not especially,” he stuttered. “I just left home. Not that it was a home to begin with, anyway.” 

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said. Soft and apologetic. “I’m so sorry.” 

“Nah, don’t be,” Crowley said. “I didn’t vibe with them anyway.” 

“Where are you?” Aziraphale asked. “What do you need? I can come to you.”

“I’m in the car, angel,” Crowley murmured. He’d called Aziraphale “Angel” since they were kids, partially because he’d heard that it was an “angel name,” whatever that meant, and like any five year old, had decided that he _adored _it even if he didn’t understand it, and also partially because Aziraphale _had actually _been one of the angels in the annual Christmas play when they were both six. This was in part because Crowley had pressured him into auditioning.

“Good to know you’ve got the car with you,” Aziraphale said. “You always did love her.” 

Crowley blinked. It had been over 15 years, but Aziraphale’s kindness still took him by surprise at times. His eyes stung, and he put a hand to his cheek cautiously. It came away wet. He hadn’t meant to start crying while still on the phone. He didn’t want Aziraphale to worry about him more than he likely already was. He choked back a sob, and whispered, “It’s not fair.” 

“What was that, dear?” 

Crowley took a deep breath. “It isn’t fair,” he repeated. “I didn’t expect it to hurt, Aziraphale,” he said. “I mean… I hated them. They hated me. It was bound to happen, but it feels bloody awful. Like I was somewhere I didn’t have any right to be, and my soles were burning from how urgently I needed to leave, or something.” 

“Anthony,” Aziraphale said. It sounded foreign in his voice, but Crowley took another deep breath and took hope from it. “It’s alright to feel like that. They had a duty to you, to love you unconditionally, and they cast you out, abandoned you for being a different person from who they wanted you to be. Of _course _it hurts, my dear. Just remember that it’s not your fault. You don’t deserve this.” 

“Don’t I?” Crowley murmured.

Aziraphale muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a rude word.

“Stay where you are, don’t move an inch,” he said. “I’m coming to get you.” 

“Angel, angel, there’s no need for that,” Crowley said. “I can drive over to you.” 

“Crowley, please,” Aziraphale said. There was an age-old desperation in his voice, something that made his 21 years sound like at least 6 millennia. Aziraphale had always sounded outdated, mostly because when he was fourteen he’d found online forums from the early 2000s for queer people, a decent fraction of whom were gay men in their 50s, and he’d picked up their slang easily, like a language that came easy to him, but _this_, this was something else. 

This was a sort of familiarity that said, _listen, I’ve known you from the beginning of time. _Crowley felt strangely seen, almost stripped naked by the intensity of it. 

“What are you going to do?” Crowley asked softly.

“Text me your location. I’ll get a cab and come to you,” Aziraphale said gently. “I know you’re in the car and you can drive here, but I want you to rest, sweetheart.” 

Hmm. _Sweetheart. _That was new. 

“Okay, Aziraphale,” Crowley murmured. Then, softly, “Do you think the Dowlings won’t let me babysit Warlock anymore? Once they realise I’m not a young woman?” 

“I don’t know, Crowley,” Aziraphale said cautiously. “I don’t know them very well.”

“I think Harriet would be okay with it,” Crowley said. “She seems pretty chill. Thad on the other hand… he’s the epitome of cishet white man.” 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah. Angel, I’m scared.”

“I’m coming to get you, don’t worry.” 

“No, it’s just….” Crowley sighed. “Taking care of Warlock isn’t just a job to me. I genuinely love that kid.” 

“I know,” Aziraphale said. “I’m getting in the cab now, one second, sugar.” 

_Sugar? _Okay. Crowley would take whatever Aziraphale gave him.

He could hear Aziraphale giving the cab driver directions. Barely a minute later, he could hear Aziraphale’s voice, this time specifically for his ears. 

“I’m back, it’s all tickety-boo. Proceed, if you will.” 

“_Tickety-boo?” _

“Indeed,” Aziraphale said. Crowley could hear the smirk in his voice. Vintage bastard. 

They were both silent for a minute, but neither of them hung up. Crowley took another deep breath. He _could _be strong, he _could _be brave. It was Aziraphale, his best friend. If he couldn’t discuss things with him, he couldn’t discuss them with _anybody. _

“I love being with Warlock,” Crowley murmured. “Love kids in general, really, but Warlock’s special. He isn’t scared of me, and he doesn’t think I’m weird.” 

Aziraphale hummed. “I’m not scared of you, and I don’t think you’re weird.” 

“That’s because you’re weird, angel.” 

Aziraphale chuckled. “Oh, you flatterer. You do say the sweetest things.” 

Crowley felt himself blush slightly and was immediately grateful that Aziraphale couldn’t see him through the phone. 

“It’s just uni though,” Aziraphale murmured. “It’s not going to be like this always.” 

“It’s so annoying,” Crowley complained. “It’s like we’re all split neatly into half, like a goddamned chessboard. _This side is heaven! This side is hell! DO not make eye contact with the other side!_” 

Aziraphale hummed. “You’re right.” 

“Uni isn’t meant to be like this,” Crowley murmured.

“Just one more year, darling. Then we’re both done with it.” 

“What’ll we do then?” Crowley asked softly.

“I was thinking we could get a little flat together. Work for a bit, make enough money to afford a little cottage in the countryside,” Aziraphale said, careful with his words in a way that Crowley could sense. 

“Been listening to Hozier and dreaming of homemade jam again, have you?” Crowley asked. 

“No, not particularly,” Aziraphale said. “Just dreaming of you.” 

Crowley made a soft strangled noise. “What are you trying to say.” 

“What do _you _think I’m trying to say?” Aziraphale said. 

_Bastard._

Crowley didn’t have much time to think on it, because the next thing he knew, a cab had stopped right next to his car, and Aziraphale opened the door and stepped out, holding his wallet haphazardly. 

“You’ll drop all your money, for Satan’s sake,” Crowley murmured, after rolling the window down.

“Well,” Aziraphale said, which wasn’t much of an answer, but was certainly something.

The cab drove away, and Crowley opened his car door.

Aziraphale crouched over in a position that didn’t look very comfortable. Before Crowley could comment on it, Aziraphale leaned towards him and gently wrapped his arms around him. Crowley melted into the hug.

“Angel,” he murmured. “I don’t know what to do.” 

“Let me buy you dinner,” Aziraphale said. There was no force to the statement, and Crowley felt like Aziraphale wouldn’t mind even if he refused. 

“Dinner?” 

“Crowley, I know you sometimes forget to eat when you’re stressed, but not under my watch, alright? We can go to that quaint little neon place you like, and while we eat, we’ll figure out a plan for you, okay?” Aziraphale said. 

“Okay,” Crowley said numbly.

“You can spend the night at my place,” Aziraphale said softly, gently leading Crowley out of the car, their arms looped around each other. Crowley closed and locked the car doors carefully, and then they both began walking in the direction of the restaurant. 

“I wish I could stay with you,” Crowley murmured. “You’re my best friend.” 

“And you mine,” Aziraphale said. “I don’t think it’s wise you stay for longer than one night, though. You know how Gabriel and Michael are. They’ll go out of their way to make you miserable.” 

“I’m sorry you have to deal with them,” Crowley said softly.

“Thank you,”Aziraphale said. “I appreciate that.” 

They turned a corner.

“I’m going to call Anathema,” Aziraphale said.

“The history major who subscribes to Occult Weekly and runs a column on Witchgirls Net?” Crowley asked.

“Yes, she’s actually rather nice once you get to know her,” Aziraphale said. “Also, she’s loaded. Something to do with her great great great great great grandmother, who had an inexplicable talent for understanding the stock market, apparently.” 

“I’m technically loaded, too,” Crowley said thoughtfully. “And so are you.” 

“My dear boy, you know how my trust fund is,” Aziraphale said. “I can only access it once I’m 25, and you’re in the same position. Can they take your money away?” 

“Unlikely,” Crowley said, keeping his voice as even as he could. “I have a damn good lawyer. Not much patience though. 25’s a whole 3 years more.” 

“We’ll work minimum wage just like anyone else,” Aziraphale suggested. “I’ve always wanted to work in a bookshop.” 

“Of course you have,” Crowley muttered. 

“What was that, my dear boy?” 

Crowley smiled, feeling strangely happy despite everything. “Oh, nothing. You’re just predictable, that’s all.”

“Maybe you feel that way because you’ve known me for all these years,” Aziraphale said.

“I’d reckon so, yes,” Crowley said. “I’ve loved every minute of it.”

“Likewise,” Aziraphale said. He moved one of his arms to curl around Crowley’s waist, opened the restaurant door. “Shall we?” 

Crowley smiled. “Ready when you are.” 

“I know you think you’re goth, and demoncore, whatever that means,” Aziraphale said reflectively, once they’d both placed their order. “But you know, I do think you’re a nice person, under it all.” 

Crowley laughed. “And you’re a bastard,” he said. “But it’s okay, because that’s why I love you.” 

“Cheers, then,” Aziraphale said.

“To the world,” Crowley said, looking at Aziraphale as if he _was _the world.

“To the _world,_” Aziraphale agreed. He was looking at Crowley with the same soft expression. “It’s our world, now.” 

Crowley closed his eyes, downed his glass of vodka neat in one single swallow. “So it is.” 

**Author's Note:**

> my current mood is just hastur, screaming and screaming and screaming. aaaaaaaahhhhhhhHHHHHHHH
> 
> also: this wasn't mentioned but sort of implied when aziraphale brought up "demoncore" - > in this au, crowley was definitely a tumblr kid when he was younger. probably had one of those aesthetic blogs with horror aesthetics & depression posts, you know the ones.
> 
> can i hear a wahoo, can i get a kudos? 
> 
> ok jokes aside i hope you liked this! im a bit nervous abt posting, idk why.


End file.
